


Koko lä'au make (blood poison)

by aries_taurus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hesse was “careful” when he shanked Steve, supposedly, but there’s no such thing as a safe penetrating abdominal trauma and Steve learns that the hard way. As usual, Danny’s the one that has to deal with the fallout and provide backup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Koko lä'au make (blood poison)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: As some of you may know, I went through something pretty traumatic earlier this year. And the way I work through trauma? I write H/C. I had a simple surgical procedure done and I had major, life-threatening complications. So, I substituted me for Steve. The initial cause is different but what Steve goes through is medically accurate. How am I so sure? It’s what I went through, this time and a previous time a few months ago. 
> 
> Almost dying makes perspectives change and sets priorities straight. At least it did for me. At least, that’s what I was wanting to write about but then, Danny Williams hijacked the story and… this is what happened; ie the story grew legs, ran away from home and learned to ride a horse. This is the result.
> 
> Happy reading.

# Prologue

After seeing that video, he feels pretty much like Danny feels: like the world’s been taken out from under him and he can’t tell up from down anymore. They share that second beer in silence and he eventually retreats to his own office to think, to try and clear his head, that is, after Danny manages to convince him Hesse will still be there in the morning for them to interrogate. The last 36 hours have taken their toll and he’s at his limits. He’s tired, everything hurts and the adrenaline that’s kept him going is fading fast. The beer buzz, adrenaline let-down and blood loss are making him fuzzy and lightheaded, fine tremors running through his body. In short; he’s about to crash, hard.

Max told him he needed to get more thoroughly checked out, have an ultrasound done to make sure there was no internal bleeding, that IV fluids would be a good idea to help replace some of the blood he lost, that he needed antibiotics, et cetera, but there’s just been no real time yet. He’d needed those few beers and time with his team to get himself back in the right frame of mind, to get back to Steve McGarrett the free man, the cop and reserve Navy SEAL instead of Steve McGarrett the inmate and fugitive, always at risk, ever on alert, watchful, borderline paranoid.

He’s better now, the escape, evade and survive mindset tucked mostly back where it belongs. He’ll rest, gather himself for a few minutes and ask Danny to take him over to Queens to make sure everything’s all right. His partner seems to think he’s reckless with his health and okay, he can see how it might look that way from the other side of the glass but he’s really not. He just knows his limits well; how far he can push his body, how much he can take and for how long. For example, he knows now he can’t take any more abuse today, physical or otherwise. He needs rest, sleep and good food for couple days before he’s anything other than useless.

He leans his head back against the cool leather of his office chair and exhales, willing his body to stop trembling, the adrenaline crash hitting him full on. He feels cold, lightheaded and he’s shaking like a leaf and he’s glad the others are too busy to notice. He leans forward in his chair and puts his head between his knees, breathing slow and deep. It takes a few minutes but the tremors eventually subside and his body begins to relax into exhaustion. He sits up and exhales slowly, body heavy with fatigue. He closes his eyes and fills his lungs, finding the calm in the storm of his mind. He sits there, just breathing, not even realizing he’s falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

# Chapter 1

The soft sound of his partner calling his name pulls him from the dreamless depths of truly exhausted slumber. He’s slow to respond, everything feeling heavy and thick like molasses.

“Hey Steve? Wake up. Wakey, wakey, Steven,” he hears, possibly for the third time.

“Hmm?” he says thickly, peeling sticky eyes open and lifting his head up a bit. Hours have passed, he realizes, because it’s full dark out. His body registers slowly and but god does he feel like week-old roadkill. Everything hurts, from skin to bone, scalp to soles.

“I’m taking you home. C’mon.”

Steve bends forward, burying his sweat soaked head in his hands, groaning. He feels his heart hammering in his chest and despite having been deeply asleep, his breath is coming in short, panting gasps and he can’t seem to quite catch it, his chest feeling a bit tight. He hears his office door open and Danny’s steps come closer.

“Steve? You okay?”

He grunts a curse when the place is suddenly filled with harsh fluorescent light that hurts his eyes and makes his head throb even more.

He rubs his face and presses his fingers into his eyes, feeling his heart pounding harder under his sternum. He wasn't dreaming so why is he feeling like he's just run a marathon?  
  
"You look like shit, man," Danny says, walking up to his chair.

“Jus… tired,” he huffs. He hears the shorter man crouch next to him and he startles a bit when he feels the back of a hand on his forehead Danny jumps back and curses.  
  
"Jesus Christ you're burning up! C'mon, I’m taking you to the hospital like I should have done in the first place. Stupid idiotic thinks he’s invincible Super SEAL. Should have known better than to think a medical examiner who works on dead people could patch you up right.  And you,” he says, pointing at Steve, “Don't argue. You were shanked with god knows what and while I'm sure Max did his best patching you up, you need antibiotics and possibly surgery and we just pulled your ass out of the fire and I'll be damned if I let you die on me after all the trouble I just went through. Come on. Let’s go."

Steve would like to protest it’s not that bad but he doesn’t because he’s not sure it’s true. He’s really feeling rough and when he pushes to his feet, he has to catch himself on the edge of his desk, the world going black around him, knees going weak.

“Hey! Ho! Whoa, whoa! Hold on! Damn it I should have known! Why the hell did I think this day would end well huh? Oh for the love of God, Steven! I cannot believe you! I should be calling a bus, not dragging your sorry ass out of here by myself. You need a doctor, hell knowing you, you need a transfusion!”

Steve leans on the sturdy wood and breathes deep as much as he can, a thin smile ghosting his lips. Danny's upset, and when Danny's upset, he yells. It's kinda cute, really, but he’s right nonetheless. He needs a hospital.

"Yeah. I think that's... agh... a good idea," he hisses through clenched teeth as the wound just below his navel screams in pain as he stretches up. "And..  it was a... screwdriver I got… shanked with," he pants. "Phillips, size two, if you want... to get... technical." He doesn’t mention the homemade handle, held together with strips of red electrical tape probably swiped from the maintenance crew.  
  
"You and useless details. Who in their right mind takes the time to look at what he's getting stabbed with? You apparently, freaking thinks-he’s-indestructible-Navy friggin-SEAL," Danny grumbles.  
  
Steve bites down on the urge to laugh. God, he missed this. A week in jail and he’s missed Danny’s rants more than he can say. He doesn’t tell him it's important to know what he was stabbed with because it allows him to evaluate how badly he can be hurt, how much damage it can cause. Instead, he just concentrates on breathing and putting his feet one in front of the other till they reach the Camaro. He all but collapses into the passenger seat and he just sits there as Danny leans over to tie his seatbelt.  
  
"You want to tell me why the hell you didn't say you were feeling this bad before now?"  
  
"I fell asleep, Danny. I didn't know. Okay?" he snaps, the pain in his gut flaring, wearing away his patience.  
  
"Okay. Look I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm worried about you. There I said it. I care. I'm worried. Okay?"  
  
Steve chuckles as he waits for Danny to get behind the wheel. "See I knew you loved me," he says, pushing a bit of glee into his words.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Steve laughs outright and gasps in pain.

“Serves you right, you idiot.”

 

* * *

 

# Chapter 2

By the time the Camaro pulls up to the ER entrance, Steve's not sure he can get up because damn, he feels just this shy of passing out. All he wants to do is lie down and to be able to get in a good breath and for his heart to stop trying to bust out of his chest but it’s not happening.

The eyes Danny sets on him as he pulls the passenger door open are full of worry and he's beginning to share it. Something's really wrong.

"C'mon," Danny says, grasping his forearm. Steve can contain the hiss of pain when he's hauled upright but he can't hide the stumble when the world fades to black for a few seconds. He ends up with his arm over Danny's shoulders as they walk into the ER. 

“Hey we need some help over here!” Danny hollers to the charge nurse and suddenly, there are more hands on him and he's sitting up on a chair in a triage room that reminds him of the nurse’s office at Kukui High. He shivers, suddenly cold, gooseflesh breaking all over.  
  
A nurse with a gentle smile takes his vitals and he sees her frown. He answers the questions she asks him mechanically, about the stabbing, how his heart’s racing, about his difficulty breathing. His eyes seek Danny's throughout, knowing his partner will jump in if he forgets to mention anything. Danny’s standing in the corner of the room, arms crossed, a do-not-mess-with-me scowl on his face but he gives Steve a half smile.  
  
"Commander? Just follow me. We'll get you feeling better in no time."

Steve nods and pushes to his feet, pausing when it all goes black again.  He blinks a few times and his vision clears enough for him to follow the nurse. He feels Danny fall in beside him and he can sense the hand hovering just behind his back. He glances upward and sighs inwardly as the nurse leads him to one of the trauma bays. He sits heavily on the gurney and takes the gown from her hand.  
  
"Take off your clothes and put them in the bag. You can keep your underwear and socks. Lie down and I'll be back in a minute to draw some blood and put in an IV. Can you give him a hand?" she asks Danny.  
  
"Yeah, sure," his partner says. When she's gone and the curtain is closed, Danny comes to stand in front of him, a concerned look on his face. "You need a hand?" he offers, using that tone he usually reserves for Grace. Steve wants to call him on it but he has trouble thinking straight.  
  
"Help me get my boots off," he says instead, shivering hard. His joints ache and the pain in his gut is making it impossible for him to bend down all the way but he still tries.  
  
"Steve? Steve! Holy- Don’t… Guh, you weigh a ton," Danny grunts, grabbing his shoulders as he sags forward towards the floor.

“I’m good,” he mutters after Danny pushes him back up until he’s lying down.

“Right. You’re good. You almost took a header off to the floor, you’re good. And that’s why your ass is parked in a _trauma room_ after being in the ER for all of twenty seconds. Because you’re good. Uh-huh. Very convincing. Just… here. Let me…”

It takes a couple minutes but he’s in the stupid gown and curled on his side, the thin blanket doing nothing to ease the chills running through him. He’s _cold._ Freezing, even. The nurse walks back in and ushers Danny out, saying something that has him practically running and pulling the curtain closed like his life depends on it.

“Commander? I need to take your temperature.”

“Okay,” he says, opening his mouth.

“Um, not there. Can you turn to your side?”

Understanding dawns in his mind and Steve winces. “Right.” He turns and forces himself to relax as she does her work but he can’t suppress the shivers running through him when the cool room air touches his back.

She pats his leg and he draws the blanket tight around him. “38.9,” she says. He knows that means around 102. “I’m sorry. I know you’re cold but it’s just the fever. I need to put you on a monitor. The doctor will be here shortly.”

“Okay,” he huffs through chattering teeth. Fifteen minutes, an IV, an alarming number of blood vials and an EKG later, the ER doc shows up. He runs a bunch of exams, pulling the blanket and gown away from his chest, listening to his heart, his lungs, his abdomen. The oxygen coming from the cannula under his nose is cold and dry, making him itch. He listens to the doctor ask for an ultrasound while they draw some more blood. Danny’s back, standing in the corner and he comes close.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

Steve shrugs, shaking his head. He’s glad to be lying down. He aches. He feels heavy, tired, heart still beating too hard, too fast, chest tight to the point of pain. “About the same,” he says. “They didn’t throw you out?”

“Nah. They’re letting me stay in lieu of family. Ah… unless you mind? ”

“No,” he says, shivering, teeth knocking together. Ugh… god I’m cold.”

Danny, for once, doesn’t say a word, just rubs his hand up and down his IV free arm, the small contact warming him a bit. He dozes until the doctor comes back, ushering Danny out for the ultrasound. He does his best to lie still as the man pours the cold gel on his skin and spreads it with the probe. The pain isn’t so bad but he can’t control the full body shivers as the probe slides over his abdomen. It’s like the gel’s leeching all the heat from his body, replacing it with a freezing touch. He breathes deep to try and still the tremors but it’s not working. Instead, it’s just getting worse, like someone is pouring liquid ice over his skin. He shivers hard, breath hitching in his throat. It’s like the room’s temperature has suddenly dropped to fifty below.

“Cold…” he huffs. “M’ cc…col..dd…” he grinds out, his jaw locking, teeth chattering.

Alarms start to wail around him but he can’t pay attention. The only thing that registers is the cold.

Before he knows what’s happening, he loses control of his body, the shivering escalating into full-blown seizure-like spams. He’s shaking so hard he can’t draw a good breath, the muscles in his back, chest, arms and legs jerking and bucking with a depth of cold he’s never, ever felt before; didn’t even know existed. He couldn’t even imagine he could feel so damned cold and not be submerged in arctic waters.

“Cold, cold… cold… so cold, he repeats over and over again. It’s like he’s trapped in a pool of dry ice, the cold making his bones ache to their very core. He’s never been this deeply freezing before, not even during that fubar op in Siberia. Cold doesn’t even feel like an adequate word.

He can’t draw in enough air and his throat feels like it’s choked with sand, like someone sucked all the moisture from his body. He’s suddenly intensely, irrationally thirsty; he feels like he’ll suffocate if he doesn’t get water, like the air he’s trying to draw in his lungs sticks to his throat like sludge, suffocating him.

“Water… cold… please… water… water,” he begs.

Through it all, he hears the doc shout for a nurse, picks up on the urgency of his tone. He hears rushing footsteps and there’s suddenly a confusion of voices around him, too many hands on his arms, alarms wailing all around him.

“Get a second line in, ASAP. I want two liters wide open! Damn. He’s cyanotic. Get a BP on him now! Find me the _veina cava_.”

“Commander, lie still. I need to put in another IV.”

“Tryin… Cold… so cold… water… water. Please,” he begs, trying to keep his arms still but failing. “Cold… dad…. Dad please….”

“BP’s 96 over 40, tachy at 140. Resps are erratic.”

“He’s in going into shock. _Veina cava_ is 80% collapsed on rebound. He needs those fluids now!”

“You need ABG’s?”

“Yeah.”

He grunts as he feels something stab his finger, something digging into the puncture. “Keep your hand still, sir.”

“I can’t get a vein! Carol? Hold his arm. Yeah. There. I got it! Second line is in.”

Steve gasps in pain as he feels the needle pierce his skin, like a wasp’s sting.

“God, he’s so rigid… Sat’s dropping: 90 and still falling.”

“Commander, please don’t move. We need to get some more blood.”

“That line isn’t… yeah. Hand me another cath. A 20. Okay, You…”

“Cold…. C.. Cold… water… want… water… please….”

“Sat is still falling! 87, 85… 82. “

“Geez.. C’mon… okay, no, I want an OR prepped stat. I have fluid in the abdomen, could be from the left mesenteric…”

“Chest is clear.”

“Commander? Open your eyes. Look at me. Look at me!”

“Can’t…. breathe…”

“Get the intubation kit and prep Ketamine and Versed. If he drops below 80 we’ll have to intubate.”

“You want him on a non-rebreather?”

“CRT?”

He feels someone taking his hand and squeezing a nail bed. “Four seconds. His hands are like ice.”

“Okay, he’s spiking his fever and if we don’t stop this soon... Rachel get me some warm blankets. Did you get those cultures?”

“Dad… I…Don’t… help… me… Help me…So cold…” In that moment, he’s terrified. He doesn’t know what’s happening, if he can hold on. He doesn’t want to die. He wants to live but he can feel himself slipping. He still hears his voice call out to his dad, begging, praying for help, for more time. The noise around him is deafening; alarms, voices and clatters of metal ring in his ears and he feels like he’s drowning in the cacophony, losing his grip and sinking into a black hole of cold, noise and fear.

“Commander, keep your arm still. We need to draw some more blood, okay?”

“Tryin… So cold… so cold… Water. Water please… I need… Help me…” He huffs, willing his arms to still as he feels the prick of needles on both. He hisses with the pain but he’s still shaking so hard and he just cannot make it stop.

Sharp, biting needles puncture his skin over and over again and he hears he nurses mumbling about not finding a good vein, about how badly he’s doing. He keeps hearing his father’s voice, telling him ‘I love you, son,’ and he wants to call out to him, wants to ask for his protection because somewhere in his mind, he’s still a scared five-year old, wanting to be just like his dad.  He shudders ever harder, his back muscles spasming painfully.

It goes on and on and on, time stretching in planes of incontrollable shaking, painful needles and bone-numbing, all-encompassing cold. And the fear’s there too; cold, black terror, because it feels like he’s dying and he can’t fight back. He wants to scream but he can’t find enough air to breathe, suffocating, throat parched and raw.

“Get a gram of acetaminophen and 600mg ibuprofen in, Carol.”

He manages to open his eyes and searches the room, looking for something to hold on to. Somehow, Danny’s still there, standing in the corner, blue eyes on his. Danny gives him half a smile and mouths a few words. He doesn’t hear them but he knows well enough what’s being said. Hang in there, babe. It’ll be okay.

 “Damn, I’ve never seen rigors this bad! He’s got to be septic.”

“Commander? Can you take these for me?”

A nurse is suddenly near his face, a small cup in her hand. She puts pills into his mouth and brings blessed cold water to his lips. He swallows greedily and somehow, the wracking tremors cease for a second, but only a second.

He can’t keep going like this. He feels it, feels the energy draining out of him, like the air he can’t force into his lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t…

“Help… me… Can’t… Water… Please… help… help… Dad, dad, please… please… please… Dad please…” he says, the plea slipping from his lips before he can’t stop it and somehow, he doesn’t care. He’s been hurt before, badly, but he wonders if this is it, what it really feels like to be dying. The thought circles his mind like a vulture, feeding on the fear.

He locks eyes on Danny again as the doctors keep working. Danny nods to him and moves closer, snaking a hand under all the wires and tubes by the monitor. He places it on his shoulder and squeezes. The touch is what Steve needs; something concrete to ground him, to keep him from flying apart. He rolls his head towards it and feels Danny’s callused palm over his head. He knows he’ll be ashamed of it if he comes out of this but he can’t spare a moment to care right now. He’s been afraid before but he’s never been this terrified and he needs this.

Still, he feels the world slipping away, his lungs seizing with the muscles in his chest.

“We’re losing him! Push a third litre, ASAP. And get those blankets on right now!”

“I don’t… so… cold… so cold… water… water.. help me… please…”

“Shh.  I know. It’s okay,” Danny says, and it really isn’t.

 Piles and piles of mercifully warm blankets are suddenly wrapped all around him and he curls into them, an inkling of warmth finally reaching the depths of his body. The desperate shaking slowly begins to ebb and after another few, interminable minutes, stops altogether, leaving him drained, washed out but alive. He feels Danny step back when a nurse asks him to but his eyes track him back to the corner. He draws in a breath, feeling his chest stretch out and oxygen fill his lungs. He forces himself to breathe through his nose, the cool oxygen flowing into his starved body, bringing back the clarity in his mind.

“Sats are coming up. 92, 94, 98.”

“Get another temp, okay Susan?”

“He’s stabilizing.  Heart rate is coming down a bit. Hang some Tazo, 4 grams and get a rush on those blood cultures.”

“Commander McGarrett? Steve? Can you hear me?”

He opens his eyes to find the blond nurse from before in his line of sight. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he whispers. “Not so… cold anymore.”

“Good. I’ll take another temperature and let you sleep, okay?”

He grunts and groans, his back muscles sore as if he’s been doing sit-ups for hours. His arms ache and his abdomen is a mass of burning pain.

“We’ll get you something for the pain in a minute.”

“Kay,” he mutters, closing his eyes. He struggles to his side, carefully, as much as he can manage with all the tubes, wires and blankets. He hears the nurse tell the doctor he’s at 40.5. It translates to about 105. In other words, he’s got a hell of a fever, meaning, if he knows his field medicine well, he’s got a raging infection from Hesse’s little gift. He heard the word septic shock floating around and he knows how bad this is, how bad it can be, how it can still end.

“You all right, babe?”     

He opens his eyes and nods tiredly. It feels like he’s been swimming against the current for hours but the clock tells him the whole ordeal lasted at most twenty-odd minutes. “I heard the doc. They think it’s sepsis from the shank.”

“Yeah. They’re taking you up for exploratory surgery in a few minutes. I’ll give Mary Ann a call soon as they take you up. Okay?”

Steve shakes his head, his breathing still difficult. “No. She’s… New York. Too far… Don’t want to worry her.”

“Hey. Family first, babe. She’d want to know.”

“Doesn’t even know I was in jail…”

“Steven.”

“What...”

“Relax. I’ll take care of it.”

The argument stops there, an orderly walking in to take Steve up to the OR.  He doesn’t even have time to thank Danny for being there. They whisk him away to surgery and time becomes fragmented and broken.

 

* * *

 

# Chapter 3

 

The first thing that registers is the knife-like, agonizing pain in his abdomen and deep, sustained keening. Someone is talking to him but he can’t quite make sense of it, right until he can. He swallows thickly and the keening stops and just like that, he’s awake.

“Commander? You with us?”

“M’ ere… Hurts…” he manages, throat thick. They give him some water and he loses more time. He feels the world moving and lurching and he groans, swallowing a rush of nausea. He thinks he asks for it all to stop but he’s not sure. The world stops moving for a while but he’s jolted and jostled, the searing pain in his abdomen making him growl and hiss. He suddenly feels like he’s tossed in the air and he throws out his arms to catch himself. A warm, familiar hand grasps his flailing one; Danny’s. He exhales, grounded.

He feels something cold snake up his arm and a warm rush in his neck before the world splinters away again.

The next time he’s aware again, the confusion isn’t so thick but it’s still there. The noise around him is wrong, there’s pain and too many voices; Danny’s and another, maybe few more. He has clear memories of the hospital’s ER and waking up from anesthesia but the last part is a jumbled whirl of remembered images and sensations.

"Danny," he calls out, confused.  
  
"Right here. Take it easy. You’re okay. You just had surgery." His partner moves into his field of vision but the man in front of him is barely recognizable.

“You ‘kay?” he asks, because Danny looks like hell; he’s got circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days and his shirt is a mess of wrinkles and stains, his hair disheveled and drooping over his eyes.

“Am I—Am I okay? Me? Of course I’m okay. I’m not the one who had his intestines skewered by a Phillips no. 2 screwdriver and developed rampant, life-threatening sepsis, my friend. Besides, it’s about midnight and I’ve been up for about 48 hours straight worrying over your sorry carcass so cut me some slack, would you?”

He blinks and nods. “Kay. Water?”

Danny nods and pours a cup from the plastic pitcher on the tray table and hands it over. He takes a few careful sips, waiting for the inevitable post-op nausea to hit. It doesn’t so he drinks some more, handing Danny back an empty cup.

“You were damned lucky Hesse knew what he was doing, babe. Surgeon said the screwdriver nicked the bowel just enough to get some bacteria into your bloodstream but the damage itself wasn’t so bad. I’m just not sure yet if sepsis is better than peritonitis.”

“Huh,” he grunted, nodding a fraction. “Ask Max, I’m sure he has an opinion.”

“Nah. Poor guy feels guilty enough as it is. He thinks it’s his fault you’re in this mess. Don’t worry. I set him straight. Told him it’s no one’s fault but your own for not getting checked out sooner.”

“Didn’t tell him he should stick to dead bodies, did you?”

“Oh come on. I’m not that cruel. I only shared that with you, my friend. By the way, Mary Ann should be here in the morning.”

Steve sighs and lays his head back on the thin pillow. “I told you not to call her,” he grinds out without any real bite to it.

“Shut up, tough guy. She cares about you and you know you’ll be glad to see her. So just stop pretending, okay? How are you feeling? Any pain?”

He takes a deep breath and takes stock of his body. He’s awake but the rest of him is still mostly numb; there’s pain but it’s muted and distant. He's still feeling the aches of the fever and the bruises on his arms from the numerous attempts at putting in IV’s and drawing blood throb and pull. Overall, it’s tolerable. The dreaded post-op queasiness is there now too, not immediate but bothersome; the water he drank did wake it up after all.

“I’m good. Jus’ a lil’ queasy.”

Danny snickers. “You’re still high as a kite, aren’t you?”

He’s about to say he isn’t when he notices how slurred his speech is, how his gums, hell, even his teeth are numb. He lets his head roll to the side and gives his partner his best, widest, goofiest smile.

“Pretty much, brah. Pretty much. I’m feelin’ no pain.”

“I’m sure,” Danny says softly, his voice taking on that low, rough edge to it, again, the one Steve associates with Grace. He’s never been on the receiving end of that particular tone from his partner and it’s nice. He thinks there should be more to this train of thought, that it says something about their relationship but he’s too out of it to try and make sense of it.

He doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until the nurse wakes him up for more pills, vitals checks and new IV bags. Danny’s sitting patiently in the chair beside his bed, trying to stay awake and not quite succeeding. He wants to tell Danny to go home and rest, that he’ll likely sleep through the next few hours, but the nurse choses that moment to injects a fresh dose of pain killers into his veins, along with the anti-nausea meds he asked for. He barely manages to mumble a few words before the drugs drag him under again.

 

* * *

 

# Chapter 4

 

He wakes up in the dead of night, the pain in his abdomen sharp and dull all at once. He sighs and forces his body to relax, the sharpness receding, leaving behind only the muted throbbing. He licks his dry lips and swallows, feeling the nausea he's been struggling with all night blooming. The thing they gave him for it earlier hasn't really helped. He reaches for the call button and presses it, knowing the nurse will probably be too late. He grunts as he shifts on the bed, trying to reach the tray table and the kidney-shaped pan on it but it's too far. He rolls to his side as he feels his mouth water, the oily sensation of nausea in his throat becoming overwhelming. He's all but resigned to vomiting on the floor when he spots the trashcan within reach of his arm. He snags it and leans over it, panting. This is why he really, really hates general anesthesia. Or maybe it’s the mammoth doses of IV antibiotics he’s on or maybe the comedown from the painkillers; he doesn’t know or care. The only thing he’s sure of is that he’s about to puke and that it’s gonna hurt.  
  
The nurse walks in with her flashlight just as he begins to retch. He doesn't bring up much but the pain in his abdomen burns bright and high with each jarring contraction of his stomach. Thankfully, it lasts just a couple minutes. He spits out the remnants as the nurse puts a cold compress on the back of his neck, urging him to breathe slowly. She helps him lie back, offers him another cloth to clean up and puts a third one over his forehead, her gestures precisely efficient yet gentle.  
  
"Thank you," he whispers, the cold chasing away the lingering queasiness and headache.  
  
"No problem. Sorry I didn't get to you faster. I'll leave this close by," she says, putting the blue plastic dish beside his pillow. "How's the nausea?"  
  
"Gone for now," he huffs.  
  
"I have something more I can give you, though."  
  
"Okay," he says. He's got no desire to do this again.

“How’s the pain, one to ten?”

“Seven,” he answers honestly.

“Okay. Pain meds it is. You know, your partner should get some rest too,” she comments as she unlocks the drug cabinet on the wall. Seeing his confused look, she thrust her chin towards the far wall.

He frowns and turns to face the far side of the room and goes still, a rush of emotions filling him, from annoyance to fondness and everything in between. There’s a cot pushed against the wall, Danny in it, sprawled on his back, mouth slightly open and fast asleep.

“Looks like he’s resting, to me.”

“Yeah, well, if you two are done with the chit-chat and you’re done with the puking, Steven, then yes, I can rest,” Danny mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Steve huffs a small chuckle. Okay, so not really asleep. “Go home, Danny.”

“Shut up. Let me sleep. I have to pick up Mary at the airport in a few hours. And besides, driving in this state will wind up with me wrapped around a telephone pole and ending up in the next room over or, god forbid, in the same room as you, Mr. Full-o-holes. By the way, Chin and Kono came by just after you conked out. Chin got called out to Halawa just before midnight.”

“He see Hesse?” he asks, trying to sit up and failing. Crap, it hurts.

“No. He’s dead.”

“What! Agh…” he lets his body drop back to the bed in an exhausted grunt. “How?”

“Someone slit his throat.”

“Wo Fat.” His voice sounds dead, resigned, to his own ears.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

“Hm,” he grumbles as the nurse injects the contents of three different syringes into his IV. He’d love nothing more than to talk some more with Danny, find out what happened at Halawa, how the hell Hesse managed to get himself killed, how Wo Fat got to him, but the heavyweight drugs are dragging him under again and he can’t fight back.

 

 

* * *

 

# Chapter 5

 

Danny watches as Steve tries to ask him about Hesse as he succumbs to the powerful drugs the nurse just injected him with. He looks incredibly pale and drawn, sweat-dampened hair disheveled but he still looks ten times better than he did in the ER. He has no clue why the medical team let him stay in there when Steve crashed and went into shock. It’s not that he’s not grateful he got to stay and be there for his partner instead of having to wait and worry, pacing the hallways like a caged lion but… He’ seen cops, friends, die on the street but seeing Steve like that, lips  so blue, face pale as death, shaking so hard the gurney shook with him, metal rails rattling, hearing him call out for his father, begging for water, for help, to be saved…

Danny buries his head in his hands, rubbing his face vigorously, vainly trying to get the images out of his mind, knowing full well they’ll be with him for the rest of his life. Mostly, he recalls Steve’s eyes, locked on his, full of fear. He can’t imagine what it would be like if it had been Grace and somehow he’s glad he doesn’t need to think about his daughter in that position.

Steve is more than a partner to him, more than a friend, more even than a brother. There’s no name to what they have, really because the word partners can be a) misleading and b) so simply inadequate to describe their situation it’s not even funny. He doesn’t care about that though. He just knows he’d do anything for Steve, like Steve would for him. Somehow, it makes him feel even more guilty for going off on Steve when Chin and he finally made it to Max’s place and found him mostly in one piece.

He’d sworn he’d never make that mistake. He’d sworn he’d never do like his father did because those memories are some of the most vividly painful he has, growing up.

Danny has many, many happy memories of his childhood. He has only a few really bad ones and up until recently, he hadn’t made peace with a couple things his dad had done to him on a few different occasions.

At age eleven, Danny had taken a bad fall in the school yard and ended up with four broken teeth, a badly torn cheek and a cracked jaw. He’d picked his busted teeth off the asphalt of the school yard and run to the teacher supervising recess, blood and tears pouring down his face. He’d sat in the principal’s office, waiting for his dad to pick him up, trying not to cry in pain and shame. He’d seen his face in the mirror. He knew how bad he looked. His upper middle incisors were both badly broken and even at his age, he knew the two other teeth in his hand, the ones from his lower jaw, were intact, knocked clean out. He looked horrible and it hurt like hell.

It had been nothing compared to what he felt when his father had first laid eyes on him and burst out _laughing_.

He knows now, from his own experience and from asking his father straight out, that for his dad, the choice was either laugh or fall apart crying at seeing his kid badly hurt and in pain. His dad had told him he thought that laughing would scare Danny less than his father bursting into tears at the sight of his boy’s broken mouth and face.

With Steve, Danny has gained even more understanding of his father’s reactions because he feels exactly the same and he willfully refuses to contemplate why and how he’s having any sort of paternal feelings towards his crazy-ass-Navy-Super-SEAL partner and boss. Fear does funny things to parents, to him in particular. Danny, when afraid for a loved one, yells. He gets pissed and screams and shouts, rants and raves, which is why he tore into Steve when he laid eyes on him in Max’s living room, mostly whole and intact.

Danny also remembers his father losing it when his sister Angela had broken the heel of her pump on the stairs and taken a header to the foyer floor. His father had gone absolutely postal and had given Angela the worst tongue lashing Danny ever recalled for not being careful enough and being reckless though the mishap was nowhere near Angie’s fault, instead of asking if she was all right.

Now, Danny understands, completely and totally about anger born out of fear. Fear makes you do stupid things and so far, he’s managed to keep his head when Grace in concerned, at least he thinks so. Okay, granted, Grace has never been seriously hurt but nonetheless, he’s never let the fear and shock rule him like it did his father in those memorable times.

It’s different when Steven McGarrett is the one involved. The fear’s there mostly because he knows he can’t for the life of him control Steve but he cares just as much regardless. Besides, Steve’s an adult who gives Danny as much grief as he gets from him so he figures it’s all good in the end. And Steve knows him, takes his bark for what it is. At least, he hopes so.

He knows Steve isn’t out of the woods. They won’t know for a couple more days but so far, the shock seems to be under control so he figures that’s a win. He glances at his watch and sighs. It’s just past two and he really needs some rest. He lays back onto the mostly uncomfortable cot and lets sleep take him. He has a feeling he’ll need all the rest he can get in the next few days.

 

* * *

# Chapter 6

 

This time, it’s the cold that wakes him; that bone-numbing, teeth rattling chill. It starts again like the last time, with the barest shudder in his chest as the chills take hold. His breath catches and hitches before the tremors spread. He grasps the call button and presses it as his breathing becomes more labored, the quivering pants drawing grunts and moans from his once again bone dry throat.

“Steve? You all right?”

“Nnno… C.. cold… It’s… starting… again,” he grinds out, feeling Danny’s warm hand on his arm.

“We need some help in here!” Danny yells, uncaring about waking the rest of the ward.

By the time the nurse runs in, Steve’s shivering as hard as he was a few hours ago, the deadly chills wracking his body just like the last time. He feels the air being squeezed out of his chest, his throat burning with the same irrepressible thirst. Only this time, the warm blankets appear almost instantly and he’s buried under a mound of them in no time at all. Danny’s there still, tucking the heated fabric around his shoulders and chest, rubbing his arms through the layers until the shivering stops.

“Water,” he rasps.

“Okay. Just relax.”

Danny holds the plastic cup to his lips and he drinks greedily. By the time the cup’s empty, his back and abdomen are screaming in pain again. Somehow, Danny notices and tells the nurse. He feels the heavy rush of what he knows is Dilaudid in his veins, the dizzying heat of it making him fuzzy and lethargic. He feels something else flood up his arm, a cold, numbing sensation wrapping him in fog so thick he can’t see. The world blurs and floats away and he lets it go.

 

* * *

 

The cycle of lucidity, nausea, pain, fever and drugs repeats itself twice more before the sky turns pale with dawn and by then, Danny is well and truly exhausted. This is just the beginning, he thinks, too, so rest is not something he’ll get any time soon. By his count, this whole part of the mess started a little under fifteen hours ago and he’s glad they got to the hospital when they did and not an hour later because Steve would have crashed in his office, away from immediate help and he doesn’t want to contemplate how that could have gone. He’s not worse at the moment but he’s not better either and Danny’s kind of getting a bad feeling about all this, one that makes him glad he called Mary Ann right from the start.

It’s just after seven when the doctors finally decide to move Steve to the ICU. They tell Danny it’s just a precaution and to keep a better eye on him, so they can intervene faster in controlling the raging fever. Sepsis has been confirmed, the blood cultures all coming back positive for a particularly nasty strain of _E. coli_ from Steve’s nicked bowel. Danny suspects the move is happening now because the ICU has a bed that wasn’t available before. He heard about a multiple MVA swamping the ER, OR and ICU successively, minutes after Steve had gone into surgery. Otherwise, he thinks Steve would have ended up there right after coming out of recovery.

Regardless, Danny’s pretty sure they don’t put people who are doing well in the ICU. He doesn’t really have time to think on it more because he’s supposed to be at the airport in 15 minutes to pick up Mary Ann but he needs a shower and clean clothes before he does.  He gazes through the glass wall separating him from his partner, at his unmoving, pale as death form before he turns away and heads home and to the airport, worry eating at his heart.

 

* * *

 

 

The ICU is somewhat quieter, if only because the glass doors to his room are kept closed but the underlying, silent feel of urgency never leaves the air, as if it’s a living, breathing thing. They told him this is only because he needs more monitoring that the wards can provide, that he’s not doing worse but he’s not sure how true that is. He doesn’t feel worse, exactly but his body feels wrong, out of sorts like it never quite has before.

He doesn’t sleep, really, just lies there, eyes closed, heart hammering in his chest. He feels the sweat wetting the nape of his neck, the crook of his knees and everywhere else his body touches the thin flannel sheet pulled taut over the vinyl mattress. Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe how he’s feeling. He’s sore, aching, bruised, battered, nauseous and completely exhausted. He shifts, trying to find a comfortable position, his tailbone numb from the halfway sitting up position they have him in but he can breathe better that way. Better doesn’t come close to easy though and despite the cannula under his nose, he keeps arching his back and neck to try and draw in a good breath but the heaviness in his chest is refusing to ease. There’s a spot on the right, close to his sternum, that feels tighter than the rest, like a sort of cramp inside his lung, one that pulls every time he breathes deep, making him gasp each time he does. It feels like someone is pushing a pen down through his ribs. It’s not really pain but it’s uncomfortable. He shifts again and an alarm goes off. He must have dislodged one of the many probes and sensors that are attached to him, not to mention the two IV’s the Foley catheter he didn’t want in the first place and the irritating nasal cannula.

A nurse walks in a second later, a falsely easy smile on her lips.

“Commander. How’s your breathing?”

“It’s…” he huffs, surprised at how hard it is to talk, “getting… harder to… I…. hurts, right… there,” he pants, pressing the sore spot with his fingers, the pulse-oxymeter clip catching onto the rough sheets.

“Okay. Just relax. We’ll switch you to a full oxygen mask. It’ll help. Dr. Jensen’s on his way.” She lifts up the end of the bed, siting him up completely and replaces the cannula with the mask. She smiles at him but he’s not reassured.

“Don’t try to talk, okay?”

He nods, breathing a little easier under the mask. It takes only a minute and the doctor’s there, listening to his lungs and ordering more blood tests and a chest CT and another test he’s never heard of.

“Commander?”

“Hm.”

“I think the respiratory issues you’re having might be due to a clot forming in your lung. It’s known to happen in septic patients. We need to get it checked out. I’m starting you on anticoagulants and clot busters just in case. Let the nurse know the moment your breathing gets any harder, okay?”

Steve nods and a second later, the bed’s moving. He closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing, willing away the fear and ignoring the renewed nausea the movement is causing. He throws a look out the corridor to the waiting area but it only confirms what he already knew. Danny isn’t there. He’s alone.

And he’s terrified.

 

* * *

 

# Chapter 7

 

The moment Danny walks into ICU ward C, he knows something’s wrong. He’s glad Mary Ann is behind him because he’s sure his face is now a clear mask of unbridled panic; room C-3, Steve’s room, is _empty_. He takes a quick, long step forward to the nurse’s station, set in the middle of the U-shaped ward.

“Steven J. McGarrett. Where is he?” he asks, flashing his badge at a nurse he doesn’t recognize. There must have been a shift change while he was picking up Mary.

“Officer…”

“Detective. Williams.”

“I’m sorry but that information is available only to fam-“

“I’m his sister,” Mary pipes up from somewhere around his elbow.

“And I have his medical power-of-attorney. So. Where is he?” Danny bullies. He’s in no mood to be patient.

“He’s in radiology for a CT. He began showing signs of respiratory distress a little over an hour ago.”

Danny shakes his head and shoves a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Mary Ann asks, distress plainly painted on her pale features and Danny has to look away. Seeing that much fear in a McGarrett’s eyes is hell on his composure and tired as he is, he doesn’t have much coping skills left.

To his relief, the nurse smiles kindly and walks out from behind her counter.

“I don’t know, sweetie but he should be back soon. Why don’t I show you to the family lounge so you can freshen up a bit, have some coffee? I’ll come and get you as soon as he’s back.”

They spend an hour anxiously waiting for news when a wheeled bed suddenly appears at the end of the hall, bearing a lanky, still-recognizable form, face pale beneath an oxygen mask.

“Oh my god…” Mary whispers, hands covering her mouth. Danny squeezes her shoulder in sympathy. She hasn’t seen Steve in months and the stress of those past weeks has taken some weight off his frame and he’s lost so much color in the past ten days it’s scary.

“Oh god he looks so…”

“I know. C’mon. Let’s give them a few minutes to get him settled. Then we’ll say hi.”

She turns around suddenly and buries her face into his shoulder. He feels the warm wetness of her tears through his shirt and his arms wrap around her small frame. She cries in his arms for a few minutes, until he sees Takeshita, Steve’s doctor, come out of the room and head straight for them.

“Hey, Mary? Steve’s doctor’s coming.”

“Oh…” She pushes off him, wipes her eyes and blinks, trying to pretend she hasn’t been crying.

“Doc. How’s he doing?” Danny asks as soon as the man is past the family room door.

“Detective,” he greets. “You brought a friend.”

“This is Mary Ann McGarrett. She’s Steve’s sister.”

“Hi,” she says, extending a shaking hand.

“Pleasure.”

“So,” Danny asks, exhaling. “How is he?”

“He’s holding his own. The fever hasn’t returned but we won’t call a victory on that until it’s been 48 hours. However, he’s developed a complication. There’s a small clot that formed in his right lung, likely a bacterial embolus. We’re treating him with oxygen and thrombolytics. It’s too early to tell if it’s working. The clot is small though, and we’ve also added anticoagulants to prevent others from forming.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” Mary Ann whispers, looking like a frightened deer.

“Time will tell. If the clot moves, it could cause a stroke. If it grows, or if he develops more or larger ones, it can damage his lungs permanently and cause heart failure. Good news is, the clot is small and was caught early. As I said, it’s too soon to tell if the clot is resolving itself but his saturation improved on oxygen and he’s more comfortable.”

“When will we know?” Danny asks, biting the inside of his lip. This is what they were afraid of; complications that keep adding on to the stress on Steve’s body, piling up until it can’t deal anymore and just shuts down.

“The next 24 hours will be telling. If he’s stable in the next day, we’ll repeat the CT and if it’s clear, we’ll know for sure. Until then, it’s watch and wait.”

“Can we see him?” Mary asks, her voice thinner and rougher than Danny’s ever heard it and it breaks his heart. It kills him to see her face like this because she reminds him so much of his daughter, so much of a vulnerable child it’s painful. He feels like it’s his fault, like he’s the one that caused her pain, just because he’s the one that had to make the call.

“I think he’d like that.”

 

* * *

 

He stands there, leaning against the glass of Steve’s ICU suite and watches as Mary gathers her courage and walks up to the bed, tears spilling on her cheeks.

He can’t hear what Steve’s saying behind the oxygen mask but he sees his hand rise, grasp hers and tug, pulling her down into a hug. She ends up draped over his chest, one of his IV-encumbered arms around her back.

He can hear Steve murmuring things to her but his eyes are on his, a silent thank you. They stay like that for a while, at least until Mary calms again and lifts her head up. He takes that as his cue so he pushes off the glass and walks up to Steve’s bed, grasping the offered hand.

“Thanks for bringing her,” he says behind the mask. The words are a little breathless and Danny ignores the bluish tint of his lips.

“You’re welcome. You trying to scare me to death again, huh?”

Steve shakes his head, closing his eyes but he doesn’t speak. It’s too tiring, Danny suddenly realizes and it makes his heart speed up and squeeze painfully in his chest. Steve; who never shows weakness, choosing silence because his body doesn’t have the energy to talk is wrong on so many levels he can’t even bear to think about it.

“Listen, babe, I’ll let you two catch up for a bit. I need to check in with Chin. I’ll be back around lunch, all right?

Steve gives him a tired nod.

He turns to Mary. “Anything happens, you call me. Anything at all, anything either of you need, okay? You have my number?” he asks, showing her his cell.

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few,” he says, walking out of the room.

He makes it to the Camaro before the tears come.

He curses and slams his fist into the steering wheel, angrily swiping at his eyes. It’s too much. This is too much. He… He can’t. Can’t do this, can’t face this. He can’t lose Steve too.

He closes his eyes and presses his head hard against the headrest, breathing deep and exhaling sharply. He’s tired, exhausted both physically and emotionally but it’s more than that, he knows it, but he can’t afford to think about this right now, can’t think about the losses and the pain because if he does, he’ll break, at least for a while, so he just doesn’t.

Instead, he wipes his face on his sleeve and points his car towards HQ. He needs to focus on something else and the investigation on Hesse’s murder’s as good a distraction as any. Still, as he drives, he does something he stopped believing in ages ago, something he hasn’t done in a very, very long time, if only to make himself feel better, feel like he’s doing something, anything that helps.

He starts to pray.

 

* * *

 

# Chapter 8

 

He paces back and forth, the relatively large ICU suite making his to-and-fro wandering a little less irritating, at least to his own self. He managed to wrestle management into letting him stay, under the guise of putting Steve under protective detail. With Wo Fat on the loose and officially wanted for Victor Hesse’s murder, it’s not really a lie but Danny knows the man is long gone by now, off the island, out of the state, out of the country.

Steve’s sleeping, thank god, because he’d send Danny out on his ass if he ever caught him hovering as he is.

The small clot in his right lung was indeed caught it in time and he’s responding to treatment. The morning’s CT confirmed it. They’ve switched him back to the nasal cannula and his sats are staying up and since when is Danny so familiar with doctor-speak? He sighs and pauses by the bed, grasping the railing in both hands. Steve’s doing okay, all things considered. The doctor told him these kinds of cases have a high mortality rate, fifty percent, if Danny recalls correctly and he’s sure he does. The fact they now seem to have the fever under control and that no new complications have popped up in twenty-four hours is good news.

“What time is it?”

The weak, gravely question pulls him sharply from his unpleasant thoughts and he has to make a conscious effort not to jump. He glances at the vitals monitor before lowering his eyes to the man in the bed.

“Four twenty.”

“A.M?”

“P. M. You’ve been asleep for a while.”

“A while? Eighteen hours is more than a while, Danny,” Steve says, shifting with a wince.

“It’s more like eight straight. You were a little out of it before that with the drugs and all.”

He watches as Steve takes stock of himself, noticing, not really for the first time but maybe for the first lucid time, the things strapped to his lower legs.

“What the…”

“Helps with circulation, so you don’t develop clots anywhere else.”

“Huh.”

“How are you feeling?”

Steve rolls his shoulders and shrugs, stretching as much as the wires, IVs and leads allow him to. “Better I think. I’m… hungry?”

“Yeah?”

“A little.”

“Hey, it’s better than feeling like you’re gonna puke all the time.”

Steve nods. “Nurses are letting you stay?”

“Not really. Protective detail, babe,” Danny says and he’s perfectly credible, he’s sure.

“Right. When’s the last time you slept?”

“This isn’t about me, Steven. It’s about you almost getting yourself killed and about keeping you alive. I’m not, I say again, not going to leave you here unprotected just so Wo Fat can finish the job.”

“Danny.”

“What.”

“You know as well as I do he’s gone. He tied up his last loose end and he ran. Now why are you really here?”

“Asked and answered. Protective detail.” That’s his story and he’s sticking to it. Besides, it’s true. Sadly though, Steve, feeling somewhat better, is having none of it.

“Danny.”

He shifts his gaze to meet his partner’s. Steve’s still pale but he looks a lot more like himself, intense, inquisitive eyes staring back at him from a tired, stubbled face. Thing is, Danny isn’t sure if he really wants to dwell on why he wants to stay here. It may have a hell of a lot to do with having to face losing Rachel again; somehow, pretending Steve needs a keeper is much easier on his heart and soul. He might have told Steve he’s okay but truth is, he’s not, not really. Having the promise of a family, of Rachel, Grace and a new baby yanked away from him in a thirty second phone call had hurt. It had cut deep, deeper than he could have anticipated. With Steve in prison awaiting trial, Kono suspended and Chin apparently having defected to HPD… He’d felt… alone. Abandoned. Uprooted, like his first days here.

“Look, just… let it go, Steven. Please?”

Steve sighs and closes his eyes. “Damn. How can I still be tired?”

Danny chuckles. “Fighting for your life against millions of tiny, minuscule bacterial invaders running rampant all over your bloodstream is a tough thing, babe. Takes it out of ya. Anyway, enjoy the quiet while it lasts. They’re moving you back to a regular room in a couple hours.”

Steve snorts at his sarcasm, his gaze still sharp, not leaving Danny’s face. He’s letting him know he’s dropping it for now but not forgetting and Danny knows he’ll have to fess up eventually.

“Like the ICU’s calm and quiet. Speaking of, where’s Mary?”

Danny winces. He’d kind of hoped Steve wouldn’t notice his sister’s absence. He swallows and ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I’m not sure. I, ah, kinda lost track of her…”

Steve chuckles, giving him a crooked smile. “Did you check my wallet?”

Instinctively, Danny’s hand goes to his back pocket and he shakes his head, going for the small bureau where Steve’s personal effects are. “No, why?” He pulls out the wallet and rifles through it and curses. “Your credit card’s missing. Wait. Wait a minute. Wait just a freakin’ minute! You sister swiped your Visa? She stole a _cop’_ s credit card? Your card?”

Steve lets his head drop back to his pillow, sighing but still looking somewhat amused. “It’s what she does. How she copes.”

Danny can feel his blood boiling in a nanosecond. “How she copes? By committing petty larceny and going on shopping sprees with stolen credit cards? She _stole your credit card_ , Steven. Shit. I gotta call--”

“Don’t. I’ll pay for whatever-“

“And your credit score, huh, you think of that?”

“Won’t affect it since I’ll pay on time, Danny.”

“Why the hell are you so lenient on her? This is clearly not the first time she’s done this for you to be so familiar with it.” Danny has to ask. He knows the answer but he still needs to ask.

“She’s my sister, Danny.”

“Yeah, with your credit card.”

“You want to find her, you know what to do. So what’s up with you?” Steve pushes, his voice growing thin. He’s falling asleep again. Danny wants to shake him awake, to keep on chatting, even if it’s about stupid Mary Ann McGarrett stealing his credit card.  Anything to keep himself from his dark thoughts but, more importantly, he wants to know why Steve’s so okay with his sister’s antics.

“You gonna tell me eventually, Danno,” Steve says, voice low and sleep-rough. “Why don’t you just get it out?”

Danny sighs. “I know. I’d just rather not repeat myself so I’ll wait till you can stay awake for more than five minutes straight.”

“C’mon, Danny.”

“I’d rather you tell me why you’re so tolerant of your sister’s crap,” he says pointedly.

Steve sighs. “She’s… It wasn’t easy on her, when we were kids. She was just ten when Dad shipped us off to the Mainland. She… didn’t adapt well. Aunt Deb did her best, but she was never mom, you know?”

“I get it. What does that have to do with anything?”

“When she was a teenager, she… changed. Started getting into trouble. Shoplifting, drugs…” Steve huffs. “Solicitation.”

Danny’s eyes go wide. “Solicit…” He doesn’t even know what to say.

“Isn’t what you think. She wasn’t… hooking. She was looking for, for… escape, for something that made, still makes her feel good. Any way she can. Sex, drugs, alcohol… She’d get into these moods, manic stuff and…”

Danny cocks his head, picking up on Steve’s turn of phrase. “Manic? She’s bipolar?”

Steve inhales slowly and nods, licking his lips. “Yeah. I mean… I tried to help, as much as I could but… being deployed and… she never… stuck with it. Aunt Deb gave up, got fed up with her bullshit, threw her out. I lost track of her for a while but she’d always call me, tell me she was okay, found a job... And one day, she’d call ‘cause she got arrested again.”

“So you bailed her out of trouble.”

“I’m her big brother, Danny, what else am I going to do?”

Danny sighs deeply, so many things waiting to be said on the tip of his tongue but he keeps quiet, keeping his anger well hidden because Steve doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need this and like hell he’s just going to sit here and watch. Steve’s fighting to stay awake so he gives him a wan smile and tosses his head towards the door.

“Just sleep, okay? I’ll be around."

 

* * *

# Chapter 9

 

It takes Chin under five minutes to trace Steve’s credit card and Danny’s anger boils over. The fifty bucks at a flower shop is the only thing that makes him smile even remotely. He’s appalled at the rest. Two thousand dollars have been spent at various stores in the nearest mall. He curses and seethes in the car on his way there. Chin’s tracking her with the security camera feed after hacking into the system and directs him right to where she is. He catches up to her as she’s about to head into Victoria’s Secret and just… no.

He speeds up and grabs her bicep from behind, hard. He’s not her brother. Steve may tolerate her shit but he sure as hell doesn’t have to.

“Five-0. You’re under arrest,” he snaps, all his anger showing through. Before she even has time to react, he has both her wrists secured behind her back with his handcuffs. He refuses to think what Steve will do to him when he finds out but this isn’t about him. Or rather it is, but it’s more about Mary Ann and Steve.

“Hey!” she cries, outraged.

“Mary Ann McGarrett, you’re under arrest for petty larceny, credit card fraud and identity theft. You have the right to remain-“

“Danny what the hell!”

“You have the right to shut the hell up and I suggest you use it. ‘Cause every word you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided to you. Do you understand these rights?” he growls as he marches her towards the exit, ignoring the wide-eyed looks lf the throngs of tourists and locals.

“Danny what the hell are you doing?!?”

“I’m arresting you for stealing Steve’s credit card and using it, Mary,” he barks, facing her.

“My brother--”

“Isn’t here right now,” he cuts in. “He’s in the ICU, fighting for his life while _you_ , are out _here_ , shopping, with his _stolen credit card_ , acting like a friggin teenager!”

“I-”

“Don’t wanna hear it. Get in the car.” He ignores her protests and shoves her into the Camaro’s passenger seat. He does however watch that she doesn’t bump her head and ties her seatbelt.

The drive to HQ is silent, Mary sulking in her seat and Danny praying like hell he isn’t making things worse but something’s gotta give somewhere with Mary and Steve apparently can’t give her the tough love she seems to need and for some reason, soft lug that he is, Danny’s willing. Or maybe it’s because he’s a father, he understands better how seeing things through, seeing the consequences of your actions will help you grow up. He understands why Steve acts the way he does, or at least, he has a good idea. He’s seen Mary’s record. He knows how many times Steve’s pulled her out of trouble, paid her bail, her fines, for her attorney, always kept her out of jail. Thing is, family’s supposed to go both ways. She’s supposed to be there for him too and that’s why this is pissing him off so much. That’s why he won’t let her off easy.

He marches into HQ and past Chin’s startled, puzzled eyes and dumps her into interrogation, shutting the door and locking it. ‘Let her stew’, he thinks. Then, he leans back against the door and bangs his head against it, letting his body slide down till he’s sitting on the floor.

“You arrested her,” Chin says.

“Yeah.” He sounds weary as hell but he is, he really, really is.

“Steve’s gonna be pissed.”

“Steve’s not gonna know,” he says pointedly.

“Really?”

“You really think I’m gonna press charges, Chin? Really?”

“So why are you doing this?” Chin asks, sitting down beside him.

Danny runs a hand through his hair and stares at the floor. “I dunno. I just.. Her brother is in the hospital, seriously injured, maybe dying, maybe not and this is what she does? Does she not realize the seriousness of the situation?”

“I think she does. All too well, brah, and maybe she can’t cope so she does something stupid. Something that makes the pain go away?”

“Yeah well that’s still acting like a child and she’s not a kid. Tough. But you have to face reality sometime. And what if Steve dies, huh? He’s not gonna be there to get her out of trouble. She’s gonna have to face up to what she gets herself into.”

“And you think now’s the time to start?”

Danny sighs deeply, letting his head fall into his hands and rubbing furiously. “I dunno.”

“Well, you better come up with something fast, brah. McGarrett called. He’s got his regular room. A-2323. I’m gonna go see him. Kono’s meeting me there.”

“Okay.”

“Danny.”

“What.”

“Don’t take this all onto yourself. Steve needs you in one piece and you’re falling apart. Let this go, brah. Stop taking on the world’s problems and give yourself time to cope, to heal. You’re important too.”

He can’t say anything. He can’t because his throat’s too tight but he nods when he feels Chin’s hand grab his shoulder and squeeze.

He feels Chin leave and he rubs his hands over his hair and wipes his eyes, trying to find his vanished composure. He started something and now it’s time to see it through. He rises and faces the door, squares his shoulders and goes in, grabbing the chair outside the door.

“What the-”

“Sit down, Mary,” he says wearily and sits backward on the chair he brought in, crossing his arms over the top of the backrest.

She sits and for once, he’s grateful she doesn’t argue. “Thank you,” he says and means it.

“You’re arresting me. Like for real.”

“Mary, do you have any clue why I called you, asked you to come?”

“Yeah, Cause Steve’s in the hospital.”

“No. I called you, asked you to come because your brother is sick and there’s a good chance he isn’t going to pull through. Still is. I thought you’d want to be there for him. I thought he’d like having you by his side, having his sister there. And… and you? You steal from him? I’m his best friend, Mary and you think I’m just gonna stand here and do nothing?”

“I dunno why I did that okay?” she yells. “I don’t… deal well with… stuff.”

Danny sighs, covering his face with his hands. He rubs it a few times and looks up, rolling his lips between his teeth “I know. Steve told be about the bipolar thing.”

“He what?!? He _told_ you?”

“I kinda guessed but yeah, Mary, he told me. Because he’s worried about you and he wanted me to understand you, why you did this. Why you always do this.” It doesn’t really help her outrage, he can tell. Hell, he’d be pissed too if someone had revealed that kind of about him to someone else.

“I can’t believe he told you. That… That’s private!”

“Yeah, it is. But… he’s only trying to protect you. Like all those times he bailed you out, paid for your lawyers... You have any clue how lucky you are? That he cares for you that much? Despite the distance between you two, he’s never let you down. He’s always been there for you, even if it was just to get you out of trouble.”

Mary drops her eyes and she sighs. “I just… stupid disease… I just… Can’t help it sometimes.”

“That’s a lie,” he spits out viciously and the effect is instantaneous. She’s on her feet, roaring in anger.

“Where do you get off… You and your fucking prejudice… I thought… of all people, a good cop and my brother’s _best friend_ wouldn’t be a biased idiot. It’s not a choice! It’s a friggin mental illness dude!”

“I know that, okay?” he roars right back, shoving to his feet and getting in her space, into her face. “I know damn well what it is ‘cause my mother has it!”

He stops and lets his head drop, hand on his hips, breathing hard. He closes his mouth and forces himself to take deep, even breaths through his nose, reining in the anger. Mary sits abruptly in silent shock and he sees her eyes darting around the room, looking for a way to escape.

“Look. I know it’s a disease. I know all about it. Meaning I know you can control it, Mary Ann, I know you can stop letting it control you, stop using it as an excuse when you mess up.”

“An excuse!”

“Yeah. Like now. Bipolar disorder is cyclic, Mary. You didn’t just get into a high as your brother went into the hospital. Now I’m not saying it doesn’t mess with impulse control because it does but you don’t have to let it rule you!”

“It’s not that simple, Danny!”

“It is simple. It’s just not easy. Mary, my mom was like you, for a long, long time. Thin was, she wasn’t as lucky as you so when she got in trouble, she got arrested. She was twenty and… The DA sent her for a pshych eval and she was diagnosed with type II bipolar disorder. Court ordered treatment. She got clean, she got help, meds… Turned her life around.  She had five kids, raised us right, even though wasn’t always easy. She had bad days, hell bad months but… she never let it control her life again. And you can too, Mary. You _have_ to. Because one day, Steve won’t be there to bail you out. And right now, today? He needs _you_ to be there for him. He’s the one who needs his family.”

“It’s not that bad, Danny.”

“No? You think I’d have called you if this wasn’t serious? He almost died, Mary. He still could. How could you not get that?”

“The doctor said he was gonna be fine! They’re moving him back to a room this afternoon.”

“Yeah. He’s gonna be fine, barring any complications. Complications he’s had like persistent fevers and a pulmonary embolism!”

He locks eyes with her and she caves, bright tears filling her eyes and spilling over her cheeks.

“I… he’s all I have. What’s gonna happen to me if…”

“You’ll be okay, babe,” he says, wrapping her in his arms. “You just gotta work at it a bit. Okay?”

She sniffs and nods. “I’m sorry about stealing his credit card.”

“Take everything back and we’re good on that but there’s another thing I need you to promise me and I’ll hold you to it, okay?”

“What.”

He slips a hand in his shirt pocket and takes one of his business cards. He rummages in his back pocket for the pencil he always keeps there, an old cop’s habit to always have something to take notes with. He writes something on the back of the card and hands it to Mary.

“My mom still lives in Newark so she’s close to you back home. Call her. She knows what you’re going through and she can help, set you on the right path. Okay? Promise?”

“I promise.”

“She’s waiting for your call.”

“Okay.”

“Now c’mon. Let’s go see your brother.”

 

* * *

 

# Chapter 10

 

Chin walks into his room, Kono a step behind just as he pushes back his lunch tray. The sheer horribleness of the food has robbed him of what little appetite he’s worked up. Instead, he feels sick again. He’s really getting tired of this; the ceaseless nausea, the weakness, the pain, the shortness of breath. He’s _sick of it_. He’s not used to being weak and feeling like crap for days on end. He hasn’t slept, really, except in drug-induced intervals that bring no true rest. He does manage to sleep, usually after 3A.M, after the IV antibiotics, only to be woken up by 5 A. M. blood draws. 6 A. M. is his usual time to get sick, just when the pain meds start to wear off and the antibiotics are at their peak. Each day’s been a clockwork of misery and he can’t take it any longer. He’s in a pissy mood and he just wants this to be over, not to feel like _this_ anymore. A visit is a welcome distraction. Danny’s been a constant presence and he’s grateful but new faces are good right now. He smiles, pushing his discomfort and bad mood to the back of his mind.

“Hey, brah, looking good!” Kono calls out.

“Thanks,” he says, shaking his head. “Even though it’s a bald-faced lie.”

Kono laughs, pearly and warm. She saunters into the room and sits on the edge of his bed, her smile as warm as her laugh.

“Really, boss. You look better. Couldn’t get into the ICU but I came by.”

Steve smiles and ducks his head, touched. “Thanks.”

“Hey, not like I have anything better to do,” she says lightly but he can see the hurt still in her eyes.

“Kono. Stop that, please. We’ll get it settled.”

She gives him a tight grimace that she tries to pass off as a smile but she’s failing, miserably at that this time. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Besides. I knew what I was getting myself into,” she says, looking at Chin. “I gotta go. I’m meeting some friends. Stay safe and heal, brah.”

Before he can say anything, she’s gone and he’s left looking at Chin. The helpless gaze they share is no comfort, for either of them.

“She’s right though, brah. You do look better. Not so _Hanehane_.”

“You’re comparing me to a ghost? Really?”

Chin smiles and walks up to the bed, sitting in the chair beside it. “Same skin tone. You do look a little ghoulish with all the bruises. What happened? Danny let the nurses beat you up?”

He tosses his head. “Try numerous failed attempts to draw blood and putting in a couple large bore IV’s. Turns out shock makes veins hard to find, even on a guy like me,” he says, pumping his arm. The raised blue streaks of blood vessels are clear and well-defined on his arm, now but each one is marred by several huge, deep-purple bruises sporting a scabbed needle mark somewhere within. There are two on the back of his left hand and a spectacular one on his right, spreading from the knuckle of his index to his ring finger, down to the knob of his wrist.

Chin winces. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. So tell me. Victor Hesse. It _was_ Wo Fat.”

Chin shakes his head. “We have clear footage of him entering Halawa. We haven’t found how he got in, who he paid off yet. He was wearing a CO’s uniform but we haven’t found it, or any requisitions to replace one that would fit him. We got plates on the car that picked him up after. Rental, wiped clean and torched.”

“So we got nothing.”

“Yeah.”

Steve gives a disillusioned snort. He’s not exactly surprised. He inhales deeply, feeling the pull on the incision on his abdomen. He shifts a little and rolls his neck, trying to work out the kinks from being in bed so long.

“How’s Danny holding up? He talk to you?” he asks.

Chin shakes his head. “No. He’s… Strung out. Tired. Hurt. But he’s holding on.”

“I’m worried about him.”

“We all are.”

Steve shifts again, frustration mounting. He feels the fatigue tugging him down when all he wants to do is get out of here, find Danny and make sure he’s okay. Instead, he’s stuck in a bed, weak as a damned newborn.

“Brah, it’s not your fault and worrying about it won’t make you heal faster. Danny’s focused on you at the moment and he’s keeping it together. There’s nothing more either of us can do right now.”

He sighs and lets his head drop onto his pillow, closing his eyes and willing away the nausea moving stirred up. “I know. I’m just not good at sitting still doing nothing, especially when one of mine’s I trouble.”

“Neither’s Danny.”

“You taking care of Kono?”

Chin gives him a small toss of his head and a look that speaks volumes on the idiocy of his question.

“I’ll forgive the question only because you’re still out of your mind with illness,” Chin says mildly, eyes twinkling with mirth and false reproach.

Steve chuckles and smiles. “Thank you, Chin Ho. Very generous of you.”

“I try,” he says, getting to his feet. “I should get back. Danny wanted me to help track down your sister.”

“Just… make sure he doesn’t arrest her,” Steve asks wearily.

“I’ll try, brah. I’ll try.”

Minutes after Chin’s left, he’s still pondering the look on Chin’s face when he mentioned Danny arresting Mary.

 

* * *

 

# Epilogue

 

It’s four more days before Steve’s well enough to be released but in those days, he makes remarkable progress, feeling better almost by the hour, as if the medication finally kicked in. Today’s the best day of all though.

He’s going home.

Danny picks him up with Grace in tow, a wide smile on his face at having his girl back with him. He waves at her when the Camaro pulls up but he waits for Danny to meet him up the steps. He’s still too weak to chance them on his own, despite how much it pisses him off. The sun feels wonderful on his body after a week stuck in the hospital so he enjoys every second of the trek, regardless of his weakness.

He greets Grace and laughs outright when she bear-hugs him around the waist. She asks a million questions and laughs herself silly every times Steve sticks his tongue out at her, the mottled white lesions on it amusing her to no end. Danny shakes his head at him and if he finds a way to make fun of having thrush in his mouth from the massive doses of antibiotics he took and still has to take, he thinks Danny’s not going to complain. Or maybe just a little.

“Stop it, you two, I need to watch the road, not you making faces at each other,” Danny scolds, chuckling nonetheless.

He sticks his tongue out at Danny in retaliation.

He does manage to fall asleep on the fifteen minute drive and it kinda pisses him off.

Danny helps him into the house and settles him into the living room and sends Grace up the stairs with his bag and Steve sinks into his couch with a deep sigh. He’s on strict orders to rest and has three different antibiotics to take plus an acid reducer for his mangled stomach and an antifungal for the thrush. Danny was afraid he’d have to wrestle him into resting, told the doctors even but Steve’s so thoroughly exhausted he won’t have to. He just wants to sleep again.

“God, I’m tired. This is ridiculous.”

“You almost died, babe. Give yourself time to heal.”

Steve shifts and turns to face his partner and looks at him through his lashes. “What about you, Danny? You doing okay?”

Danny sighs and drops his head. “I was kinda hoping you’d forgotten that discussion.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow at him. “Really, Danno?”

Danny chuckles and sits. “You’re not gonna let this go are you?”

Steve just keeps staring, his eyes saying a clear ‘do I ever?’, until Danny exhales explosively. Grace tumbles down the stairs with a smile on her face at that precise moment and Steve knows Danny’s glad for the interruption but he won’t let him get away with it, not this time.

“I put your bag down on your bed, Uncle Steve.”

“Thank you Gracie. You want to play out on the beach?”

“Can I, Daddy?”

“Go, Monkey. Stay away from the water though, okay? We’re gonna eat soon.”

They watch Grace barrel out to the sand and he pushes to his feet, heading for the lanai. “I could use some sun,” he says. “You can watch her while we talk.”

It takes a lot more energy out of him that he cares to admit just to stand and walk the twenty feet out the door and the hundred or so to the beach chairs. He’s out of breath and spots chase across his vision when he sits heavily onto the worn wood. He leans back in the chair, letting the late afternoon sun warm him, lost in the remembered feeling of those wracking chills, relishing the returned warmth.

“You okay babe?

“Yeah. Sun feels good. Didn’t think I’d ever feel warm again, you know, a week ago.”

“Yeah. I’m glad you’re okay though.”

Danny’s tone is uncharacteristically quiet and Steve thinks he’s a part of Danny’s problem, that his getting sick was another blow on top of those Danny was already suffering from but it’s tough to tell. Despite his bluster and talk, his partner’s quiet about his own private feelings, the ones that involve him and only him.

“You wanna tell me what’s been bothering you or you want to do what we usually do?”

“What we usually do. What is that, Steven, pray tell?”

“Usually this happens in the car. I ask what’s wrong, you deflect, I push, you yell, I badger you until you tell me. I listen, offer advice, you feel better.”

“So if I get this straight, you want me to tell you what’s been bothering me, not that I’m admitting anything  is or was, without the usual--”

“Cargument yeah.”

“Why?”

“It would be easier. Would make me feel better, since my energy level is kinda low.”

“Oh!” Danny crows in feigned understanding. “So I’d be doing you a favor.”

“Well yeah.”

“Oh, Okay.”

“So.”

“So?”

“What’s bothering you?”

“I haven’t agreed to this plan of yours, babe.”

“You said okay.”

“I did say that but it did not in any way mean I was agreeing to your plan.”

“No? What was it then?”

“I was expressing my understanding of your reasoning behind said plan.”

“And?”

“And what, Steven?”

“Do you agree with my plan or not?”

“I think it has merit, but agree? Not to the plan as it was presented to me. There are definite disadvantages to my agreement with this plan.”

“And what would those be?” Steve asks, watching Danny’s raised hands wave and point as he talks.

“Well, among other things, it could set a precedent.”

“A… Precedent. What?”

“You could infer future compliance from this single instance.”

“What!?!”

“Future compliance. As in you, thinking it’s—“

“Are you purposefully being difficult, Danny, or you just don’t want to tell me what’s going on?” he cuts in.

“No! I’m just—“

“Danny.”

“Yes?”

“You’re an ass.”

Danny tires to stay serious, he really does, Steve can tell but he fails spectacularly and simply gives up, dissolving into laughter. Steve has no choice but to follow and but god does it ever feel good, until it turns into a harsh coughing fit.

When they finally stop, his abdomen aches and he’s breathless and exhausted but it’s a good kind of tired. Problem is, Danny still hasn’t answered his original question.

“So, you ever gonna tell me or am I just wasting what little breath I have?” he asks, once he can speak without panting.

Danny’s eyes lock on Grace before going distant, staring across the ocean. “There’s nothing much to tell. Not now, anyway. A couple weeks ago? Different story.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You, in jail. Chin back with HPD, the one who arrested you, ducking my calls. Kono suspended and not allowed contact. And… Rachel and Grace in Jersey. Rachel pregnant with a kid that isn’t mine… My head wasn’t a good place to be. Felt like… when I first got here.”

There’s nothing Steve can say to that, so he just nods. “And now?”

“Grace is back here. You’re okay. Chin’s not an ass. Kono’s… we’re working on that.”

“So it’s all good?”

Danny shrugs, pursing his lips a little. “Pretty much. Getting there.”

“So, goading me into an argument is what, your way of getting back to normal?”

“More like a way to make sure that crazy Neanderthal brain of yours didn’t suffer any permanent damage, or at least new damage from your little stunt.”

“Stunt?”

“Yeah, stunt. I mean, you couldn’t just let the ambulance take you to the hospital like any sane person would. No, no, no! You have to jump out of a moving vehicle, run around like a lunatic, knock around a cop, steal his cruiser, break into the ME’s place and bleed all over his floor and, well, you know how that ended. That, my friend, is what I mean by ‘stunt’.”

Steve ignores him. “Stunt, like putting my sister in handcuffs?” he says instead, watching Danny suddenly study his shoes.

“She, ah, told you… about. That,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, she did. And specifically forbade me from being pissed at you. She said I should thank you for the reality check and for setting her up. What the hell does that mean, Danny?”

“I just… gave her a number. I know someone back east, in Newark, actually, who can help her. Knows what it’s like to be, you know… So I um, offered her some help. I’m just glad she took my advice.”

Steve sighs. “She was pissed I told you, huh?”

“Pissed? One thing you McGarretts do really well is anger, trust me on that, babe. And for the record, you didn’t exactly tell me. I guessed.”

Steve chuckles. “Drama Queen Mary in cuffs? I can imagine.”

“Yeah?”

“I grew up with her, Danny. I was seven when she was two. I remember. The screaming. Oh my god, the screaming!”

Danny laughs, nodding. “I can imagine. My mom says Gracie was easy and I have to take her word since I can’t really compare, having only one kid but I do seem to recall my sister Angela and Matt’s terrible two’s being kinda awful but what did I know? I was four the first time around, six the second and I was in school by the time Deb was two.”

Steve hums and lets it go. Danny doesn’t want to tell him to whom or what he sent Mary to and that’s fine. He trusts him.

“You really okay about all this, Danny? About Rachel and…”

“Yeah,” Danny says on an exhale. “I mean, with all that happened, I wondered, you know? If she made it up? That somehow Wo Fat had gotten to her, to get me out of the way?”

Steve bites his lip and nods. He’d been… floored when Danny had told him about Rachel, about the baby, about going back to New Jersey. He’d been genuinely happy for him but… he’d never quite had a friend, a partner like Danny and losing him had been a hard thing to envision.

“He’s devious and manipulative but that’s too… I dunno, soft? For his style, no?”

Danny sighs. “Maybe. I just… I wanted that… life. Wanted my family back. I think that’s what sucks most out of all this.”

And Rachel cheated on Stan just like she cheated on you before, he doesn’t say. There’s one thing he has to ask, though. “Are you sure the baby’s not yours, though? That she just didn’t get cold feet?”

Danny shakes his head. “I’m sure. Saw the ultrasound pictures. Doc estimates the baby’s age at eleven weeks. That puts the conception date about three weeks before we slept together for the first time.”

Steve nods, leaning forward to but his elbows on his knees. His body aches with fatigue but it’s the first time in two weeks he’s had the chance to enjoy freedom and he doesn’t want to go back inside, doesn’t want walls around him. He wants the sun on his face for as long as he can have it.

“You’re tired. You should get some rest.”

“I’d like to enjoy my freedom a little, if you don’t mind,” he grumbles a little crossly.

“Cabin fever huh?”¸

“I went from a week in jail, in protective isolation to the hospital for six days, within 36 hours, Danny so yeah! I’m a little-” he cuts himself off, realizing he’s nearly shouting. He huffs out a breath, feeling a bit lightheaded. He’d love nothing more than to get up and storm off, splash some water over his face and regain his composure but he’s not sure his legs would carry him.

“I get it! I get it. Don’t get so worked up about it. I’m just,” Danny gestures wildly, “showing concern. You almost died, Steve. Just.. give yourself a break!”

“I didn’t almost die, Danny. I had-“

“Sepsis. Septic shock. Six says in Queen’s Medical center. You spent two days in the ICU and over 8 hours in a trauma bay in the ER where you went into shock and severe respiratory distress for over twenty minutes!”

Steve stares at Danny, eyes wide. He’s panting, flecks of spit drying on his lips, shoulders heaving under the force of his breathing. His own heart’s beating hard in his chest, remembered fear and helplessness but he hadn’t really considered what it had been like for Danny, what cost Danny had to pay to be there for him.

He drops his gaze to the sand between his feet and nods. “Yeah. I remember. I also remember you being there for me and not giving me shit for calling out for my dad or begging for help.”

“You were terrified, possibly dying. What kind of friend would I be if I made fun of that?”

“Don’t know. But I owe you a thank you, Danny. Thank you for being there for me.”

“Don’t even, Steve—“

“No, Danny, hear me out. You chose to be there. You didn’t have to. But you stood by me and I’m grateful. I’m grateful I had you there, that I didn’t have to face that moment alone. And believe me, I know how hard it can be, being there, in those moments when… when…”

He cuts himself off, unable to say more. He’s faced his mortality many, many times before and he’s not afraid to die, not really. It doesn’t mean he’s ready or nonchalant about it.

He swallows, watching the sun touch the ocean and set it on fire.

“Thank you, Danny. Just… thank you.”

“Any time, brother. Any time.”

 

FIN

 


End file.
